In anatomy class I took notes for you, while 3am still had it’s way with your bones. While labeling the patella on a diagram, I remembered your skinned knees from last Friday and the way you tricked everyone into forgetting that you ever had a favorite pair of jeans. As I jotted down the word ‘femur,’ I imagined your own shadow straddled over you in an endless edge of streetlight and crooked blinds. The way you shuddered each time the teacher said the word ‘coccyx’ reminded me of the night you lost your virginity in the back of the library, and the fact that your ***** stamp was the only thing that your ******* ex ever loved. A car engine from somewhere near-by muffled your moans. Remember how the classics romanticized them back there? Remember how they also lamented over the fact that you bombed your midterms?